


Conquering Hell

by SpindleKitten



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2019-08-13 20:47:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16479488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpindleKitten/pseuds/SpindleKitten
Summary: Buffy didn't leave the hell dimension after rescuing Lily. She stayed until every last slave was free.





	1. An Hour and Three Quarters

**Author's Note:**

> This is a response to a challenge by Rezol87.
> 
> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> Thanks to my amazing beta Badwolfjedi <3

Buffy jumped up into the shimmering black portal without a backwards glance. It had been seven long years of fighting but at last she was confident that not a single slave still lived in this hell. She was the last, and she was finally going home.

As her feet touched down on the tiles surrounding the basin in which the portal still glimmered, she allowed herself to remember the first time she had seen it. Despite the passing of years, she could still visualise with amazing clarity everything that had happened that day: watching as Lily disappeared into the portal; following her; rescuing the slaves that were being held in that section of the prison camp.

She had nearly left with them that day. She would have walked out, happy in the knowledge that she had done her duty as the Slayer, had she not heard the very human cries of a young girl trapped in a different block of the concentration camp.

Its funny how your views can change in barely a moment. She had thought she was the conquering hero, the knight in shining armour freeing the slaves and leaving a gaol empty of prisoners. How foolish and naïve to believe that those scant few she had released were all. Ha! They were not even all the slaves that belonged in that wing, just the new arrivals waiting to be properly broken.

No. The instant she heard that crying child, she realised her folly. Her hubris. There were others – hundreds of men, women and children (teenagers, really; she had found none younger than twelve and yet those little ones she had saved were so _young,_ so very definitely _children_ , even if their eyes told a different story). She was the Slayer. She could not leave knowing that they remained and suffered. 

And so she fought. Endless battles, month after month, systematically clearing each cell block, every wing of the prison she had been brought to. Killing the demons. Leading the slaves to safety. Destroying every new portal she found, leaving only the one she had come through open. That was her way home, after all.

When she had cleared the whole compound, over a year had passed and she was so _tired_. There was an overwhelming sense of elation building in her that last month when she had only found a dozen terrified prisoners in an isolated wing. There was no-one else. She was going home!

That was when she discovered that hers was not the only camp. 

Like a true conquering hero, when she finally arrived at the demon entrance to her camp she smashed it down. Destroyed it, completely. When she walked out into the strange azure light of the _outside_ (the first time she had experienced it since she came to this hell) she found that the gate opened out onto what looked like a central square.

There were four more gates opening off this barren, paved area, all identical to the one that she had just broken down. Five compounds, each covering endless acres, each filled with thousands upon thousands of human slaves. It was a system of camps that would have made the Nazis proud.

Despite her fear, her complete exhaustion, Buffy couldn't leave. This was her calling and even if it claimed her life in the end, she could never be at peace with herself if she abandoned these wretched people to be worked to death or insanity.

So she fought. Endless battle after endless battle. Slowly, methodically, she cleared each and every corner of the hell she had claimed as her own.

It was in the third compound that she had her first major shock. After a month of clearing out the first sector, she moved deeper into the camp and discovered that the next sector was not being worked by humans. They were obviously _demons_ , but there was no mistaking the ragged, haunted beings for anything but slaves.

The demon slaves had panicked at her entrance. They knew this powerful human girl that attacked the guards must be the slayer. They threw down their tools and cowered on the floor, begging for a swift and merciful death.

But she couldn't do it. Slaying a terrified, emaciated group of unarmed demon slaves felt too much like murder. Instead, she talked to them. Asked them what they had done to be enslaved here.

 _That_ was when she found out that a whole community of peaceable demons existed. These demons weren't here as punishment, but because they were not strong or mean enough to fight their captors. They no more deserved their enslavement than any of the humans that she had saved.

Buffy could no longer see the world in the black and white of good and evil that the Watcher's Council espoused. She took the time to learn the name and type of every peaceful demon she met from that day on, committing them to memory. She vowed never again to slay a demon that didn't attack her first.

***

Despite the constant struggle and fighting, she knew that she had to stay aware of herself. She saw too many people who had been reduced by their slavery to a shadow with no name, no history. If she lost who she was, what she was fighting to get back to, then she would lose the war regardless of how many people she saved.

It had taken her a little while to realise that losing herself was a danger. Not very long – perhaps two or three months – but long enough to make it impossible for her to count the days with any hope of accuracy. She knew it couldn't have been longer; her body kept a fairly regular cycle which had only made itself known twice to that point. So she made a rough guess and started keeping track of the days as best as she could reckon them. The days might not match up perfectly, but it was the best she could manage under the circumstances.

Even though she knew that time wasn't really passing in her world, she acknowledged her first Halloween in true slayer fashion by taking the day off. It was the first day she didn't take the battle to the demons since she had arrived. She didn't let herself feel guilty for not saving anyone that day. She needed to save herself, too.

Somewhere around Thanksgiving, she liberated a nearly-new ledger from a back office. Who knew demons kept accounts? That evening, she began to write.

Buffy had always kept a diary. Kind of. Not in any regular way – months could pass between entries – but she had found it a welcome forum for trying to understand her tangled thoughts. Even though Buffy and words were generally not mix-y things, putting her feelings onto paper helped enormously when she needed to figure out what exactly was going on in her head.

Now, she wrote to remember.

She described her bedroom in Sunnydale, detailing everything she could think of, up to and including the three spots of green nail varnish Willow had dripped on the carpet three weeks before Buffy's 17th birthday. She imagined her mother's face; her best friend's goofy turn of phrase; her watcher's tweed suits.

Every day, she picked a topic and wrote until exhaustion blurred her eyes.

As the months passed, specific details faded and she couldn't write the intense descriptive passages that she started out with. She still read them, remembering as best she could, but eventually there was nothing new to add. She didn't want to detail the horrors of her life now, though.

A fortnight passed in which she barely filled a single page, until her frustration grew to dangerous levels. She _needed_ to write something – it was the one normal, _Buffy_ thing she did every day.

In a fit of pique, she started an essay on how she hated being the Slayer. Except that wasn't what the pages of text actually said. She had, without meaning to, written an analysis how being the Slayer had destroyed her relationship with her mother.

From then on, she began dissecting her relationships with her friends, her watcher, and – eventually – Angel. She had almost laughed at her own naivete when she got into the details of that one! How _had_ she believed that she was in love? She knew virtually nothing about him, apart from that he had a soul and was thus not evil. She had trusted that. Without thought, she had accepted that he was honest and safe and good simply because he had a soul. 

It had taken half a decade in a hell dimension for her to question it, when she acknowledged the fact that soul-having humans were capable of evil too. Taking apart her relationship with Angel, from the distance of years and hardened maturity she had begun to notice some disturbing paedophilic tendencies in the vampire, even  _before_ he lost his soul. She no longer felt any regret in sending the ensouled Angel to his own hell dimension. 

Three and a half years in, she had started a second set of journals, recording everything she learned about each new species of peaceful demon she encountered.

Over the years, she had collected every blank and mostly-blank book she could find. She even went to the bother of cutting out pages from heavily filled tomes and stitching them into new booklets. The little corner of the prison where she had made her base camp, not far from her portal home, had stored dozens of completed journals.

The night before she left, she took all her personal journals and burned them all. She wouldn't need to remember her home when she was free to return there, and she had read each entry so many times that there was no forgetting the essays she had written on her relationships. Taking them with her felt like asking for trouble, though.

She packed the few tomes of demon journals into a bag she had fashioned the year before. A couple of smaller weapons joined them. They were the only possessions she would take with her. The few items of clothing she had scavenged and made herself over the years would not help her blend in with human society. The rest of her weapons were too big to travel with.

Now, she stood on the edge of the portal that had cursed her and saved her. She had suffered and struggled for her very survival, but her Hell had given her something that neither her friends nor her family ever had. Space. Silence. A chance to work through her thoughts and form her own opinions without being torn in a dozen different directions.

She was not being made to feel guilty for not fulfilling her sacred duty.

She was not being made to feel stupid for failing a test when she had been too tired to study (because she had been **busy** doing her sacred duty!).

She was not being made to feel like a terrible daughter because the vampire she had thought she loved was about to end the world and she didn't have time to explain the no-returns policy of her _fucking_ _sacred duty_. 

No. She might have hurt and bled and cried, but she had grown as a slayer and – more importantly – she had grown as a person. And for that she was thankful.

She smashed the runes that kept the portal open without a second thought and strode back onto the streets of LA.

An hour and forty five minutes after she left.


	2. Homeward Bound

There had been no sign of Lily when Buffy had left the building. A part of her wished that she could have done more to help the other girl. A lost soul, very much like the Slayer herself had been during her brief time living as Anne.

Perhaps she had gone back to the ratty room that Buffy had been renting in LA. Maybe even taken her place working in that horrible diner. She hoped so, but there was no way she would ever know – Buffy had written nothing of her existence as Anne in her journals and the details were so fuzzy that there would be no chance of her finding her way back through the city to that apartment building now.

She could only wish Lily good luck and continue on her own path.

Somehow, even in the chaos of those early days of fighting, she had managed to keep hold of the scant handful of dollars that had been in her pocket when she jumped into her Hell. She had kept them safe, treasured each crumpled paper bill with a value far beyond the figures which they actually represented. They were one of her few connections to the outside world. A reminder that it was real. A link home.

Now, those few dollars were gathered in a makeshift purse that she had fashioned from the shirt she had worn into Hell after it had finally fallen apart at the seams. It sat in her bag, tucked securely under the demon journals.

Slowly, Buffy made her way to the bus station. It wasn't all that far from the building that had held her portal, but her distant memory of the city led her in a circuitous route around the neighbourhood. 

Though she had made an effort to put forth her most presentable self before leaving, the well worn and mismatched clothes obviously gave off an unwelcome vibe and after the first two people that she had approached for directions scampered away from her with looks of fearful disgust, she had resigned herself to finding her own way.

Eventually, she rounded a corner and the bus station appeared. She took out her precious dollars and managed to scrape together a single fare for the night bus to Sunnydale. From her change, she saved a single dollar bill for posterity and rather gleefully traded the rest for a small mocha with extra foam. It was the first coffee she had tasted in seven years and she savoured it with small sips for the entire hour and a half that she waited for her bus. It was heaven.

Finally, the bus arrived and she made her way to the back. 

Sheer determination and focus on her mission had managed to suppress her apprehension and anxiety as she made her way through the city. Focusing on enjoying her coffee had soothed her nerves and helped keep her attention away from the bustle of people around the bus station. Shutting herself into a moving box with dozens of strangers for several hours was not something she could face with anyone at her back. She had been alone too long to feel comfortable when there were people where she could not see them.

Clutching her bag in her lap with white knuckles helped to hide the shaking of her hands as the engine started and the unfamiliar vibrations worked their way up through her seat and the soles of her boots. Several deep breaths later, she allowed herself to fall into the meditative state of awareness that had become her habit when she was resting in Hell.

Next stop, Sunnydale. She wasn't going to hide any more.

***

Somehow, despite the passing of time, her feet led her confidently away from the Sunnydale bus station. Dawn was just staining the horizon as Buffy made her way down Revello Drive and the Slayer stopped to watch with awe. It was more than seven years since she had seen the sun. 

She didn't worry about the early hour when she raised her hand to knock at her mother's door. Probably, she was awake and preparing for work. If not, Buffy was fairly certain that she would be forgiven for waking her.

She had come to the conclusion that, despite Joyce's last words to her daughter before the battle with Angelus, her mother didn't really want or expect her to  _ actually _ leave. She had been in shock, overwhelmed and struggling to accept fantastical truths. She had lashed out and tried to assert herself as a parental authority because she felt she was losing her daughter to this new and scary world. 

Buffy accepted that now, and had forgiven her mother years ago. She might have regretted leaving for LA altogether if not for the hundreds of relieved and awed faces of rescued slaves that had filled the last seven years. She could not regret being in a position to save them all.

Her knuckles hit the wood with a dull crack and within minutes the door was hesitantly drawn back. Both women were overwhelmed with spontaneous floods of tears as their eyes met across the threshold. 

“ Buffy?” The older woman asked, her voice trembling with disbelief and hope. “Is that really you?”

“ Mommy?” She choked on the word, blinking furiously to clear her eyes as she dove into her mother's open arms. “I'm home.”

The blissful reunion didn't last long. Once she was assured that it really was her daughter in her arms, Joyce began firing questions that Buffy really didn't know how to answer. How could she leave? Was she ok? Where had she been? Did she realise how much school she had missed? The litany continued with barely a breath between, not giving the younger woman a chance to attempt to answer, even if she knew what to say. Instead she smiled, inhaling the forgotten scent of her mother's perfume and basking in the intimately familiar berating tone. 

Inevitably, Joyce calmed enough to notice that her daughter appeared very different to the one she had watched storm from the house a few months before. 

“ Buffy, has something happened to you? You look – there's something very... you've changed.”

Buffy smiled sadly and nodded. “Yes, Mom, I've definitely changed. It’s a long story and I'd rather not rush it now. If you don't mind, I've been up all night and you wouldn't believe how long I've been dreaming of a hot shower and cozy bed. Do you think I could sleep now? I promise to tell you everything later.”

Joyce nodded, tears once more glistening in her eyes. “Yes, yes, of course. You head on upstairs. I should be at the gallery now, anyway.”

She herded her daughter to the bottom of the staircase and put on her coat. As she turned to leave, Buffy was nearing the top of the stairs and she called out to her. 

“ Sweetheart? You will still be here when I get home, won't you?”

Buffy turned and held her mother's gaze. Her tone was almost surprised; her words a bland statement of fact. “Of course. I'm home now.”

Hearing these words released a flood of relief through Joyce's body. Feeling slightly more sure of herself, a distantly familiar and desperately needed sense of calm settled over her and she gave her daughter a tremulous smile and left through the front door. 

***

True to her word, Buffy had enjoyed a hot shower before falling asleep, snugly wrapped in a soft comforter that still smelt faintly of fabric softener flowers. Her sleep was the deep unconsciousness that comes from finally being safe to let your guard down after years of half-alert dozing.

Buffy woke when the sun was already low in the sky, feeling refreshed. Since the house was still empty, she indulged in another hot shower. 

Afterwards, she spent time browsing through her wardrobe in search of a perfect outfit. She trailed her fingers over a multitude of short skirts and skimpy tops, bright shirts and fluffy sweaters. There were so many colours and textures it was overwhelming, but she didn't feel like any of that suited her any more. After years of trying to avoid unwanted attention, the idea of dressing in any of the clothes she had loved before made the Slayer decidedly uncomfortable. She finally settled on a selection of black jeans and a grey knit top that was decadently soft against her skin. 

Once dressed, Buffy made her way over to the dressing table and, for the first time in she didn't know how many years, made a real effort to fix up her appearance. She spent long minutes brushing out her hair, enjoying the feeling of her clean silky locks slipping through the bristles. She had had nothing more than a cold water rinse and finger combing in her Hell and had forgotten what an amazing difference conditioner made. 

Her muted blonde hair hung in soft waves just past her shoulders. She had allowed it to grow only so much before hacking the ends off with a small knife. Long enough to secure in a braid, but not so long that said braid would could be easily grabbed in a fight. That was as much thought as she had spared for hair care after the first couple of weeks. 

Next, she spent a few minutes staring in bewilderment at the large array of make up that was scattered across the top of the dressing table. She could vaguely remember feeling that most of the products were an utterly indispensable part of her daily beauty regime, but couldn't for the life of her remember how to use most of them. Deciding she'd rather not risk looking like a clown, Buffy left the make up where it lay.

Finally, she spent some time familiarising herself with the photos that were pinned up around the mirror. She was mesmerized by the faces she hadn't seen since before LA. There were so many details that had been lost to her over the years - little things like the way her Mom's hair fell around her face, or the freckles on Willow's nose.

Buffy also examined her own face, comparing it to that of her smiling seventeen year old self, and was surprised to see it was not as different as she had expected. Her cheeks had been more rounded with the last vestiges of youthful puppy fat; her eyes had sparkled with naïve joy; but otherwise she really struggled to see the seven additional years of ageing. The face looking back at her in the mirror did not look like someone approaching 25. She would barely pass for twenty.

Eventually shaking it off as irrelevant (and quite probably connected to her slayer healing) she made her way down into the kitchen to forage for sustenance. She would need the energy if she was going to withstand interrogation this evening. Plus, it had been literally years since she had eaten proper food.

Of course, there had been things to eat in Hell. Mostly she had scavenged from the kitchens that fed the human slaves. It was a sort of pasty gruel for the most part, with the occasional loaf of dry bread. She had been too wary to try any of the meat she had found in the demon kitchens unless it had the recognisable form of an animal. Such discoveries were a rare treat.

Now, she had free range of her mother's kitchen and didn't know where to start. Probably something simple would be best. She decided to make a peanut butter sandwich with a fresh apple sliced on the side.

It was amazing. The heady scent of the fresh bread, the crunching sound as the crust broke beneath the knife; she was in heaven before even taking a bite. Salt exploded across her tongue with the first taste of peanut butter from the spoon. The crisp, juicy tang as she bit into an apple slice was probably the sweetest thing she had ever tasted.

She had forgotten what a _pleasure_ eating could be.

A little while later, Buffy was just placing her dirty plate in the sink when she heard a key turn in the lock. 


	3. Welcome Home

Joyce Summers walked into the kitchen, and her reaction upon seeing her daughter sat at the island was not dissimilar to her initial reaction upon opening the door that morning. She gasped, hand moving to cover her mouth, and whispered reverently.

“Buffy. You're really here.”

The younger Summers gave a rather incredulous look and answered with a bland statement of fact.

“Of course. I came home.”

Tears welled in her mother's eyes. “I was so sure that it was a dream. I couldn't believe it was really real.”

In a gesture reminiscent of her much younger self, Buffy patted herself down.

“Nope. Not a dream. Really real girl sitting right here.”

Joyce smiled at the familiar antics. “I spoke to Mr. Giles earlier.”

The light-hearted attitude fled the Slayer. Nerves fluttered in her belly and her heart began to pound as adrenaline flooded her system. Her voice lacked strength as she quietly responded.

“You spoke to Giles? What did you tell him?”

Joyce finally moved away from the entrance to the kitchen and approached the girl. Her hand made a half-hearted move towards Buffy, but she held herself back from giving the physical affection that she herself craved, unsure how her estranged daughter would react. Instead, she shrugged helplessly.

“I honestly don't know. I was so flustered when I called him, and I didn't say anything specific when I asked if he could come over after work, but I am sure he guessed something was up.”

Buffy trembled in her seat. “I'm not ready for this,” she murmured, her voice sounding like that of a little girl.

Joyce ignored her earlier uncertainty and put a hand on her daughter's shoulder, squeezing in gentle reassurance.

“Oh sweetheart. I know, but when would you be ready? Tomorrow? Next week? I really don't think you ever feel ready for something like this. At least this way you won't have to repeat yourself, as I am sure Mr. Giles will demand to know what his slayer has been doing these last couple of months.”

Buffy sighed in defeated acceptance. Her mother was right – she couldn't avoid her Watcher forever. As if this reasoning fulfilled some prophecy, the doorbell rang.

Mrs. Summers moved forward to open the door, leaving her daughter to mentally prepare herself in the kitchen. She was completely unsurprised to find that Mr. Giles was accompanied on her porch by both Willow and Xander. The two teens had been frequent visitors, always eager for news of Buffy, though never staying long when there was none. Not only had they accompanied the Watcher when he made his semi-regular information sharing visits (during which pretty much no new information was ever shared), but the duo often stopped by of an evening just to check that Buffy hadn't miraculously appeared.

Before the three worried faces could erupt in a stream of questions, Joyce invited them in with a sweep of her arm towards the front room. Since Mr. Giles had made his first visit the day after Buffy disappeared, the one in which he confirmed the girl's tale of vampires and slaying and had warned her of the dangers of living on a Hellmouth, Joyce had been very careful never to verbally invite anyone into the house. Not even Giles, Xander and Willow were exempt.

The two teens looked like they were about to burst with nervous curiosity but managed to hold their tongues as they filed past the Summers matriarch and settled onto the sofa. Mr. Giles was not so patient, and before he could be offered a seat he had turned on the woman of the house.

“What happened? Have you news? Is it Buffy?”

Joyce fixed him with an unimpressed look for his impatience and pointedly didn't answer. Instead she said, “Please, have a seat Mr. Giles.”

With a polite huff to emphasise his displeasure at the lack of immediate answers, the Englishman did as he was told. Once all three were seated, Joyce reverted to her happy hostess routine.

“Would anyone like anything to drink? Tea? Coffee? Soda?”

Three negative responses and she was out of delaying tactics. Settling herself into the second armchair, Joyce began.

“I hope I didn't worry you when I called earlier, Mr. Giles. I wasn't in quite the best frame of mind at the time. You see, as I was getting ready to leave for work this morning, I had something of a shock. Buffy came home.”

There was a shocked outcry of “Really?!”, “Buffy's back?!”, “Where is she?” and a large assortment of similar statements and demands shouted at her from three sides. Not willing to shout over the commotion, she raised her hand and waited for her three guests to calm somewhat.

“As I said, Buffy came home this morning. She was none the worse for wear as far as I could tell, just tired from spending the night travelling. I didn't tell you earlier because by the time I called you I wasn't convinced that I hadn't dreamed it.

“Buffy hasn't told me anything. She asked this morning that I go to work and give her the day to rest, and I was barely back five minutes before you all arrived. I am as eager to hear what she has to say as any of you, and I will not allow this to become an interrogation.”

This last was directed in a stern mom-voice at Giles, who looked slightly intimidated by the implied threat. Once she was sure that her message had been received and understood, Joyce called out for Buffy to join them.

Buffy took a fortifying breath before joining her mother and the Scoobies. She was frustrated with herself for finding this situation more nerve-wracking than facing the unknown dangers that each new compound in her Hell dimension had brought.

She had spent the few minutes since being left alone in the kitchen reminding herself that she was no longer a child to have demands imposed upon, and that as much as she had loved these people they had no rights over her thoughts or opinions. She was free to disagree with them and enter into a debate with confidence. She had lived nearly a decade on her own wit and could command a Hellmouth without sidekicks if need be.

At the same time, she desperately wanted to reconnect with her friends and was terrified that her age and maturity would be a barrier that would ultimately lead her to a lonely life focused only on slayage and demons.

So, it was a mildly conflicted Buffy that finally emerged to face the firing squad. She was completely unprepared to face teenage squeals and an almost supernaturally fast Willow barrelling across the room with the obvious intention of hugging her returned friend. She flinched back from the suffocating gesture and raised an awkward hand in greeting.

“Hi, Willow.”

The other girl pouted and wrapped her arms around her own chest, grumbling her own greeting.

“Hi yourself, you big friend-abandoning disappear-er.”

Buffy couldn't help the tears that filled her eyes as her best friend babbled her disappointment. This was _Willow_ , finally before her was the girl whose memory she had tried so hard to hold onto for years. Her freckles, her quirky fashion sense and those big, sad eyes. 

For seven years, she had been starved of positive physical contact. She had almost never touched anybody unless in violence, save those few times that her rescue-ees had needed to be carried to their portal. And then only if there was no other who could help them. She had feared that giving into her craving and allowing anyone to so much as shake her hands would destroy her resolve to stay and keep fighting.

By this point, her subconscious was so used to fighting her body's craving for physical affection that it was an effort to allow it. Instinct had her shying away from Willow, but now she took back the reigns and stepped forward, putting her arms loosely around the other girl who immediately broke down against her shoulder.

“You left us, Buffy! You didn't even leave a note and we were so _scared_ that something terrible had happened to you -”

Her diatribe was cut off by a hiccup and she sniffed, stepping back and rubbing the tears from her cheeks.

Buffy considered her reaction carefully. She wanted to make it very clear from the start that she was not exactly the same girl, that she wouldn't cave to peer-pressure as she had in her youth.

“I'm sorry that you were worried. I know leaving a note to tell you I was alive would have helped a little. I was hurting so badly that it didn't even occur to me. I was told never to come home, and I needed time to grieve. All I could think about was getting away – as far away from my life as a slayer and away from every reminder of _him_.  I had to _kill_ my first love. Send him to Hell after watching his soul return. It broke me, and I couldn't be here any more.”

Though the words were spoken to Willow, they were meant for everyone in the room. Xander, who had stood with every intention of following his red-headed friend across the room, bowed his head and looked guilty at the mention of Angel's restored soul. Perhaps if Buffy had known they were trying to do the spell again she would have had a little more motivation to fight and been able to hold Angelus off and prevent the portal from ever being opened. Then she would never have left.

Giles studied his slayer thoughtfully. There was a surety in her speech that was new, almost mature, and it unnerved him.

Joyce broke down in tears at the reminder of her harsh words the last time she had seen her daughter.

The young witch was actually the only one who accepted the Slayer's words with forgiveness in her gentle heart.

“I'm sorry, Buffy. I wish I hadn't put you in that position. I'm glad you finally felt able to come back home.”

Buffy felt tears pooling in her eyes as she managed a choked “thanks, Will,” as she wrapped her friend in another hug.

The girls were not allowed to bask in their reunion for long, however. Giles would not be satisfied with such a simplified explanation of what had happened. He cleared his throat imperiously and Buffy pulled away. Even years later, she knew what that noise meant.

She walked over to take a seat on the sofa, pausing a moment to squeeze her mother's shoulder in reassurance and forgiveness. Joyce looked up and the two Summers women exchanged teary smiles.

Buffy pointedly ignored Xander's attempted hug, deliberately sitting as far from him as possible and encouraging Willow to take the place between them. She had spent a lot of time dissecting her memories of the boy and did not particularly like what she had seen. Apart from his persistent and unrequited infatuation with her, she had spent an afternoon discussing spirit possessions at length with a rather charming Yarbnie demon who had laughed long and loud at the idea of post-possession amnesia.

Extending the snub, she turned physically away from him to face her Watcher. Giles immediately took the cue.

“What happened with Angelus, Buffy?”

This was a memory that she had avoided for a couple of years, but when time had come to record it in her diaries there was not a moment she could not recall with absolute clarity. Even now, she retold the events of that evening – from the truce with Spike to the final act of closing the portal – though she managed to speak with a detached emotionlessness that could only have come with time and healing.

Giles listened in silence. He showed his displeasure at Spike's role only with a thorough cleaning of his glasses. Otherwise he retained a stoically neutral face throughout. A younger Buffy would probably not have noticed the hint of a smirk that appeared when she described running Angel through with her sword.

Willow also listened to the tale with avid interest. She had been forced to elbow Xander in the ribs on several occasions to prevent outbursts (and once, with particular viciousness, when Buffy recounted his words to her before the battle) and by the end of the tale her cheeks were sporting twin trails of sympathy tears.

Joyce listened with horror. She had tried to understand her daughter's calling as best as she could during her absence, but the story she was hearing was straight out of a horror film. _This_ was her little girl's life? This pain and horror, and stupid selfish Joyce had taken her last safe haven from her. She could cry no more tears as she was overcome with self-loathing and a bitter hatred for what fate had forced on her sweet Buffy. 

By the time the Slayer fell silent the sun had long since set. She struggled to withhold a yawn but was not fully successful.

Giles noticed at once and determined that everyone would benefit from having time to digest what they had heard. Leaning forward, he spoke to the group.

“Thank you, Buffy. I do, of course, have some questions and I am sure that I speak for everybody when I ask that you tell us about how you have spent your time since you left Sunnydale. However it is late, and I doubt anyone will be able to process much more tonight. I suggest that we reconvene tomorrow after lunch.”

Buffy gave him a confused look – wouldn't after lunch be within school hours? She was about to tell him that she was not returning to school, and that it would be rude to leave her mother – who had to work – out of the discussion, when he spoke again.

“Tomorrow is Saturday, my dear.”

Buffy gave a nod of acknowledgement. There was no way she would have remembered that she had entered the portal on a Thursday evening.

Giles stood then, directing a 'come along, children' arm wave towards Willow and Xander. The redhead stood immediately, tugging at her friend when he hesitated. Before he could complain or resist, she had bundled him out of the house. The door closed behind them with a decisive thud.

Alone with her mother once more, Buffy made her way over to the armchair that the older woman was sitting in. Kneeling at her feet, she gently embraced her and whispered words of understanding and forgiveness until the hollow look left her eyes and the tears returned. The two cried together for an age, before Joyce finally composed herself somewhat.

“Would you like some hot cocoa?”

Buffy smiled. She spent the rest of the evening enveloped in the warmth of chocolatey goodness while laying the foundations of a new, healthier, relationship with her mother.


	4. An LA Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the massive delay in posting, I've not been on AO3 for a while. I will try and update every Sunday - at least until I run out of new chapters, which shouldn't be for at least a couple of months with all my pre-written chapters.

The sky was still the dark navy of pre-dawn when Buffy woke the next morning. She may have been safe, warm and comfortable but there was no overriding years of surviving on the barest few hours that pushed even a slayer constitution to the brink of sleep deprivation.

Wide awake in half a second, the way she had conditioned herself to be, Buffy settled herself cross-legged on the floor. Meditation had been something she had hated when Giles had tried to teach her. Now it was a hard-won skill that she treasured above almost any other. 

She stayed in the lotus position until the sound of her mother clattering through her morning routine filtered into her consciousness. It might have been one hour or five since she woke, she hadn't really concerned herself with timing. It made her no less rested and ready to start the day.

It wasn't long before a freshly dressed Buffy made her way down to the kitchen to join her mother for breakfast. Joyce had apologised for the lack of sugary cereal in the cupboard and had given her daughter a very strange look when the girl shrugged indifferently and insisted she would rather have eggs anyway.

After the meal, Joyce announced that she had some exciting new pieces delivered for the gallery and intended to spend the morning sorting through them. She was thrilled, if a little surprised, that Buffy eagerly volunteered to help her. 

They spent a quiet couple of hours unpacking and cataloguing. At one point, Buffy had unwrapped the protective tissue from a tribal mask that sent her Slayer senses into overdrive. Her mom had been planning to hang it in her bedroom but was persuaded to wait and ask Giles to check it out. 

If she was going to embrace her daughter's calling, then she was going to have to trust the girl's instincts. It wouldn't hurt to get a professional opinion on whatever magical or mystical properties the mask had that were making the Slayer uncomfortable.

Once they were done, Buffy invited her mom to watch her train for an hour or so before lunch. Joyce was delighted to have her first proper chance to see her daughter in action. She sat on the back porch and watched, entranced, as the too-thin young girl transformed into a confident warrior dancing around the yard with deadly grace.

All too soon, the clock ticked past the noon hour. They sat, facing one another across the kitchen island, fidgeting fingers wrapped around warm mugs. Neither woman had been able to face eating lunch, too nervous for the upcoming discussion.

The doorbell rang.

***

Buffy shouldn't have been surprised when the door opened and two more people were standing on the front porch than she had expected. It had taken her a moment to remember Oz and Cordelia.

She felt sort of guilty that they had both been relegated to a few paragraphs in her memory. She hadn't been close with either, hadn't really been able to write much more than a superficial list of facts about each in her journal. She wondered briefly what her teenage self would have thought about including them now.

Buffy gestured everybody in with an uncertain smile. Maybe she should have let her mom answer the door – she didn't have the first idea what she was supposed to say. Casual conversation with friends you hadn't seen for years was hard. She wasn't used to talking.

Fortunately, knowing what to say wasn't all that important. The teens shuffled past her, continuing the conversation they had been holding on the porch without a thought to how they were excluding her. Not that Buffy was particularly upset by this, beyond the fact that it was just plain rude. 

She was not surprised, upon entering the front room, to find that the young people had settled themselves together on the sofa. It was a relief that there would be no space for her to sit with them. As much as she had missed Willow and enjoyed reconnecting with the other girl a little the night before, she felt incredibly uncomfortable being within touching distance of Xander. 

Not that she feared him. He was a weak and very breakable boy, after all. But despite – or perhaps, because of – having had years to analyse their friendship, she could not overcome the disgust she felt that he had lied to her after the hyena possession. 

At the time she had entered her Hell, she had long forgiven him for actions that he didn't remember, made while under the influence of demonic spirits. Later, after she had begun talking to the demons she had saved, she had tried to learn as much as she could. Not just about the beasts she fought every day or might meet in the future, but also those she had already defeated. 

She had been horrified to discover that some of the 'feral animals' described in the council texts, which Giles often sent her to hunt, were peaceful demonic species – some even vegetarian! 

Likewise, learning about possessing spirits had made her lose all respect for and trust in the boy she had once thought of as one of her best friends.

So Buffy was quite happy to settle herself, alone, on the overstuffed armchair that faced the door. She was touched when Giles looked at the remaining armchair, then made his way quietly towards the dining room, returning a moment later with another chair. Which he sat on.

When Joyce entered the room with a tray full of steaming mugs a couple of minutes later, the chatter from the sofa trailed off into silence.

Buffy gratefully accepted a cup of hot chocolate, curling her hands around its comforting heat. She allowed herself to focus on the soothing warmth seeping into her fingers rather than the jittery feeling of anticipation that had been growing inside her all morning.

When she felt the eyes of everyone in the room were focused on her, Buffy began to speak in a strong but quiet voice.

“Killing Angel, knowing that he was Angel again, that his soul had been returned, was the final straw for me. I had spent months tormented by the fact that I had brought about all the pain and death Angelus had reaped. The guilt of that responsibility was enormous, but I pushed through because I had to. Then it was all over, and I'd done my job and I could finally stop and breathe and think and everything hit me all at once.

“My mom had told me not to bother coming back home. My friends had been attacked because of me. Kendra and Ms. Calendar were dead, and it was my fault. Giles didn't let me forget that. I was fairly sure he hated me for getting Jenny killed.

“I was done. Everything that made the pain of being the Slayer bearable was gone. I needed to get away and just be me for a while.”

There were various gasps and murmurs from the assembled group but as if caught up in a spell by her words, nobody made any attempt to interrupt or refute her statements.

“I packed a bag and caught a bus to LA. I found a job in a diner and worked long hours for just enough money to pay for the crappy room I rented. It was hard, but a kind of hard that was normal and so _easy_ after everything I had faced. 

“Then one day, a girl came in.” She paused and thought for a moment. “It must have been on Wednesday. She came in with her boyfriend and they had matching tattoos and she knew me. Buffy me. 

“Her name was Lily now, but she used to call herself Chanterelle. I saved her from Spike and his minions in that ridiculous vampire-worship club. The next day she came to me, telling me that her boyfriend was missing, and she was sure it was something demonic that took him.”

She gave a wry smile. 

“Somehow, even after swearing that I wouldn't be the Slayer any more, I couldn't turn down a direct plea for assistance. I left work and we spent the day searching. Eventually, I found a crazy old man with the same tattoo I'd seen the day before. I'd found Lily's boyfriend and it was obvious that she was right. Something very unnatural had happened.

“A little investigation and I found a charity that was a front for a demonic slave ring. They took people in who wouldn't be missed and then worked them to death in a hell dimension. Once they got too old to work, they were dumped back onto the streets of LA. They had taken Lily, so I went in to rescue her.”

Somehow those words broke the spell of silence and everybody started talking at once. Buffy took the opportunity to sip from her cooling hot chocolate and waited for the others to calm themselves. 

Eventually there was a quiet question from her Watcher.

“Buffy, did you just say that you went into a Hell dimension to rescue that girl?”

She nodded.

“I did. I went through the portal and there were dozens of helpless people being tortured. It woke up the Slayer side of me that I had thought I had buried when I left Sunnydale. I entered into Hell with nothing but the clothes on my back, but that didn't stop me from killing every demon in that sector and sending the captives back through the portal.”

She paused – a notebook had materialised in Giles' hands and she allowed him a moment to catch up in his notes. When he finished, he fixed her with a strange look and asked:

“You said that you sent the captives back through the portal. Does that mean that you stayed? Why in God's name would you do a thing like that?”

Buffy regarded him with sad eyes when she replied.

“I was going to leave with them. Then I heard a scream and realised that these were not the only people that needed saving. I'm the Slayer, Giles. I can't leave innocents to suffer because it will be _hard_.”

She could see a sheen of tears in his eyes as he looked at her. His face showed understanding, his words were tinged with pride as he whispered. “Of course you couldn't. How long did it take you to save them all?”

Before she could answer, Xander spoke. His words were harsh and tone disbelieving.

“What makes you think she saved them all?”

Giles shook his head once and fixed his young charge with a fierce stare. 

“Because she is here.”

Her relationship with her Watcher was complicated, even before the tensions brought about by the heartbreak that Angelus had gifted them both with. It warmed her heart to hear the conviction in his words and know that he still had her back. 

Something held her back from giving an exact number. She couldn't explain it if asked, but instinct led her reply.

“It took a long time. A _very_ long time.”

Joyce had been sitting silently, tears streaming down her face as she listened. She couldn't hold back her question, though she wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer. “You were alone all that time?”

“For the most part.” Buffy nodded. “There were the prisoners I rescued, but they didn't talk much. Not the humans, anyway. Sometimes the demons would stay a few days to talk and help me with my research. Mostly it was just me, fighting the gaolers and emptying the cells.”

Joyce stared at her daughter in horror. Giles' eyes lit up at her mention of research.

Xander shouted. “You were talking to _demons_? Why would you stop and chat with disgusting monsters before killing them? Are you evil, now?”

The part of Buffy that had spent years analysing human and demon behaviour understood his reaction. Not that she liked or condoned it. But, she understood his deep-seated hatred of demons started with the death of his friend and only grew fiercer under the torment of Angelus. The part of her that had once sincerely loved this boy as a brother and craved his acceptance, however, cringed away from the hurtful words.

Willow spoke next, leaning over to plant a soft punch on Xander's arm.

“I don't think she meant the bad demons, Xan.”

Before the boy could put his foot further into his mouth and insult the werewolf sitting next to him, Buffy spoke up.

“Willow's right. I didn't speak to the bad demons. I slayed them. Some of the prisoners I rescued were peaceful demon types, though, and there were usually a couple that would be happy to talk with me for a while. It was the only way for me to learn more about the demon world while I was there. 

Sometimes they helped me train but mostly they told me how to kill different demons that I might meet there, or we talked about the demons I faced in Sunnydale. Talking to them taught me things that I needed to know to survive. If I'd just killed them all, it wouldn't just have been wrong in the way going to the pound and killing all the stray dogs in their cages would be wrong. It would have meant my death.” 

Xander looked suitably chastened. 

Before the painful discussion could start up again, Joyce stood.

“Well, I think I'll put the kettle on. Would anyone like anything to eat?”

There were murmurs of thanks and acceptance as she gathered the empty mugs back onto the tray.

Buffy took the opportunity to escape to the kitchen with her mom, followed quickly by Willow and (surprisingly) Cordelia. The women bustled around, fixing sandwiches and plates of cookies, actively avoiding thoughts of what the Slayer had suffered.

It was a pleasant break in the tension and Buffy basked in their silent support, thankful that they weren't using the opportunity to question her. As she steeled herself to once again face the inquisition, she was surprised and quite touched when the other ladies gathered around her in a group hug.

Oddly the tight, uncomfortable feeling of others invading her personal space never materialised.


	5. The Truth Hurts

When the ladies returned bearing hot drinks and nibbles, they found Giles and Oz in quiet conversation and pointedly ignoring a silently scowling Xander. Once everybody was settled into their seats Buffy looked to Giles, correctly assuming that he would want to ask the first question.

“I take it that your being here now means that you are ready to resume your duties as the Slayer?”

“No.” She held up a hand for silence and before they could erupt into arguments, she continued.

“I had a lot of time to think while I was in Hell, and I realised that being the Slayer isn't a duty. It isn't something that I can _choose_ to do or not do. It is a part of me. As much as the demon is part of a vampire. 

“When I ran away I wasn't living; I was barely existing and was in too much pain to see that it was killing me. I was ignoring this whole, huge part of who I am, and it was turning me into this broken shell of a person. If I hadn't gone to Hell, I don't think I would have survived to Christmas.”

There was an explosion of denials, no one wanting to acknowledge the depth of the depression that the Slayer had sunk into after being forced to kill the re-souled Angel. Buffy waited for the noise to calm enough that she would be heard.

“No, I would have given up. I had nothing to live for. In Hell, I had to _be_ the Slayer. I found that part of myself again and that helped me start to heal. Over time, I realised a lot of things about my life that were wrong. A lot of beliefs and ideas I had that were unhealthy. 

“It sounds crazy, but surviving in that Hell gave me the time and space I needed to become whole again. To realise the lies that you had all been telling me. To acknowledge the fact that I shouldn't live in fear of my friends.”

Again the rest of the group were very vocal in their disagreement. Shouts of “what lies?” and “since when do we scare _you_?” and multiple variants thereof filled the room. Buffy took the opportunity to sip her drink and help herself to a few snacks. 

She knew that trying to answer their questions would just lead to an argument and a lot more shouting. She might only have hazy memories of being a teenager herself, but her journal had contained many entries that detailed various times that her friends had gotten her to do as they wanted by sheer force of talking over her until she gave up and agreed.

Finally, they realised that she was essentially ignoring them and the furore died down.

“Lies.” She stated the word with bland truthfulness. “There were many.” 

She looked across the room and met Giles' eyes. “You, my dear Watcher, lied when you told me that I was responsible for releasing Angelus. Yes, had I not slept with Angel he wouldn't have lost his soul. That wasn't my fault, though, Giles. 

“I was a _child_. A virgin. It was my 17th birthday and I was taken to bed by a man who had long passed his bicentennial. Who hadn't bothered to look into the details of his own curse. A curse that Ms. Calendar knew everything about and didn't bother to tell us until it was too late. 

“I had no way of knowing what would happen. I was the _victim_ in the whole mess and you blamed me! You blamed me for Angelus and you blamed me for Jenny dying even though she was in a public building, alone, after dark. You blamed me for it all and I believed you.”

She paused then, tears welling in her eyes, unable to look at the man she had once loved like a father. She wasn't sure if she could regain that love and trust, but she hoped it was possible. That was why she was determined to get everything out in the open now. It might be painful, but it was better than pretending and living with festering resentments.

With some reluctance, she looked over at her mother. She really didn't want to hurt the woman who had tried so hard to stick up for her the last couple of days, but she couldn't _not_ say what she needed to.

“Mom, I love you and I know I wasn't always the best daughter. This is probably the first time since I was Called that you have stood up for me. I understand, mostly, because I was always getting into trouble and fighting, but I tried _so hard_ and when I needed your support it wasn't there. 

“The first time I tried to tell you about Slaying you let Dad call me crazy and had me put me in an institution. You never even talked to me about Ted, just took his side against me. You believed the police when they said I killed Kendra. You _only_ considered that I might be innocent after I told Spike that it was Dru. You told me never to come back if I left, after I told you that I had to go to save the world.”

Buffy couldn't stop the tears from spilling over as she spoke. This was probably hurting her as much as Joyce, and not just the remembered pain of everything she had spoken about. She tried to ignore her mom's shaking shoulders as she continued.

“I know that there were a lot of extenuating circumstances. I _know_ that you love me. And I'm not angry. I've had a lot of time to process, and I understand and I forgive you. A lot of that could probably have been prevented if you knew about the slaying but Giles said you couldn't know, and I wasn't going to try explaining again without backup. Because I knew you wouldn't believe me.”

Buffy moved to stand at the side of the other armchair. She reached over and put a hand on her mother's arm. Joyce looked up at her and made no attempt to hide her tears. Buffy smiled and spoke gently.

“But if you can forgive my teenage self for being such a difficult child to trust, and for hurting you in so many ways, I would really like for my mom to be my best friend again.”

Buffy found herself pulled down into a fierce hug as her mom whispered fiercely “I'd like that, too.”

After a few moments, the Slayer pulled back and returned to her seat.

She turned to Willow next.

“I don't remember you lying to me, Will. You are so bad at it that I would probably have spotted it straight away anyway. You were the only one who supported my relationship with Angel. You even tried to save him for me. 

“But I'm not the same girl that I was before. I've grown up. I don't want to disappoint you by not being the best friend you remember. I won't pretend to be something I am not. I hope you can accept me as the girl your friend became.”

The redhead gave her a teary smile and a faint nod. Buffy smiled back. She was determined not to lose her relationship with Willow, who had done the least to hurt her that last year she had been in Sunnydale.

She didn't have anything much to say to Oz and Cordelia, and they were probably relieved when she looked past them to the fuming boy she had once considered one of her closest friends.

“Xander, you lied to me when you said that you didn't remember the hyena possession. I know now that isn't how it works. I wonder if Giles knew that you were covering up your attempt to rape me with that lie?”

The suddenly terrifying expression on the Watcher's face said that no, he had not been aware of that little fact. 

Cordelia shifted as far away from her boyfriend as she could get, giving him a look of disgust that indicated he would probably not be her boyfriend much longer.

Xander shrunk into himself in shame under the force of everyone's fury. 

Buffy didn't give him a chance to talk himself out of the hole he had dug for himself.

“I realised why you hated Angel so much. Apart from the fact that you never gave up crushing on me. You are both so alike – dark thoughts and desires held back by a guilty conscience. Were you jealous that Angel could hide behind his soul and pretend that his evil thoughts were nothing to do with him? That you couldn't do the same?”

Xander's mouth fell open in shock at that insinuation. He sputtered, trying to form a coherent denial, but Buffy kept talking.

“Maybe not, maybe I'm wrong. That doesn't change what I realised about you. Out of everyone, you hurt me the most. And I'm not talking about when you attacked me. I could have forgiven that, given the demon spirit that was influencing you. I mean when you were trying to be my friend.

“You didn't like Angel. I could deal with that. Rubbing the 'I told you so's in my face at every opportunity after he lost his soul was just cruel. Irregardless of the fact that he took advantage of my insecurities to sleep with me in the first place. Even if I _had_ been entirely to blame for us having sex, I wouldn't have known it would make him turn all evil afterwards. What normal person goes out of their way to hurt their heartbroken friend like that?

“You can be petty and mean spirited, Xander, and that is not a pleasant character trait.”

The teen had obviously reached his limit, because he didn't give her a chance to say anything further, to soften her harsh words. He stood, grabbed his jacket, and stormed out of the house. Buffy wasn't sure that she could be sorry about that. 

The rest of the assembled group were staring rather wide-eyed at her. She realised that this was probably in part because she had never shared her feelings like this before. Pointing out their failings in front of the group was possibly not the kindest action she could have taken, but at least everybody was aware where they stood. 

She felt a little uncomfortable with how far from her planned discussion she had strayed. With a sheepish smile, she apologised.

“Sorry, I guess I had a lot of things that needed saying. I have been away for so long, and I really don't want to fall back into the unintentionally hurtful relationships that we had before. 

“You all made me feel like I had to be perfect. I had to be good all the time and when I made a mistake it wasn't easily forgiven or forgotten. It isn't healthy to live your life in fear of upsetting your friends. I was so terrified of losing you all, of being alone, that I forced myself to be the girl you all wanted me to be instead of the person I truly was.

“But I'm not that girl any more. I'm a lot older and I've gotten to know myself really well. I'm not afraid to be alone any more, though I would prefer to have you all by my side. I won't apologise for having an opinion that doesn't match with yours. I won't pretend to be someone I am not because being myself makes you uncomfortable. If you can't accept that, then you are welcome to leave.

“I'm sorry for opening old wounds today. I didn't want to upset anyone. I hadn't intended to talk about these things quite so forcefully or so immediately. They did need to be said, though. 

“I realised a long time ago that so many of my relationship problems came down to a lack of honest communication and accepting differences. I have no desire to hold your mistakes over your heads. I just need you all to know where I am coming from.”

Buffy stopped talking, looking down at the hands clasped in her lap. The air was thick with a tense silence that nobody seemed to know how to break.

Finally, Buffy thought back to what prompted her rant in the first place and spoke up.

“So, to answer your question, Giles, I don't have any duties to resume. I am the Slayer all the time. I will, however, start patrolling again tonight.”


	6. Reintegration

It had been two days since the painful Scooby reunion and Buffy was slowly getting used to the idea of being around _people_ again. Not that she had been around many people in the last few days – Giles had been over a couple of times and spent several hours discussing her 'adventure' as he had decided to refer to her time in hell. Willow had spent most of Sunday afternoon sat out in the yard with her, talking about her recent experimentation with magic in a way that made Buffy feel decidedly uncomfortable. Her mother had been smotheringly _there_. 

And now it was suddenly Tuesday and, for some reason that hadn't occurred to Joyce the day before, it was imperative that Buffy not miss another minute of school. Not that the school saw it that way – Principal Snyder was adamant that despite no longer being considered a murderer, Buffy Summers was no longer welcome to attend school at Sunnydale High.

Her mother was unwilling to listen to the fact that Buffy herself had no desire to return to high school. So far that had been the biggest bone of contention between Joyce and her suddenly-not-a-child daughter. The elder Summers was simply unwilling to accept that Buffy had grown into adulthood whilst she was away and was no longer willing or able to be anything but self-sufficient and independent. Despite the fact that Joyce was walking on eggshells and both women were delighted to be together again, the issue of school had been the one that led to their first argument.

“You don't get it, Mom-”

Joyce cut her off. She was not willing to even contemplate her daughter as a high school dropout.

“No, Buffy, _you_ don't get it. I don't care how long you think you were away in that demon world, here in the real world it has only been a few months. You are a minor and my responsibility and going to school is not optional!”

Buffy took a calming breath. She really didn't want to fight with her mom, especially so soon, but there was no way that she could hope to endure a year of high school, forced to be surrounded by people and restrained by timetables and homework and evil principals.

She tried again. 

“Look, Mom, I'm not saying that education isn't important. What you don't seem willing to understand is that I _can't_ go to school. I could barely stand to be in a room with half a dozen _friends_ the other day. I have been by myself, surrounded by demons who wanted me dead, for so long that I am scared of how I would react to a sudden noise in a busy classroom. It isn't that I don't want to learn, it is that I would be incapable of learning in that state of constant alertness. Could you just for a second consider that homeschooling would be a much healthier option for me?”

She seemed to be a little calmer. Perhaps Buffy should have started with the 'I really do want to learn' route, rather than stating that she was not willing to go back to school. 

“I'm not saying make a decision now, Mom,” Buffy continued, “Just think about it. Talk it over with Giles when he inevitably turns up this evening. And try to remember that I am not the irresponsible teen you remember me as. I may not look it, but I have grown up. This isn't an excuse to get out of early mornings and homework.”

Joyce had, reluctantly, agreed to disagree for the moment. Buffy was unsure how willing Giles would be to back up her homeschooling plan, but at least he was in a position to understand that a jumpy Slayer was not an especially safe person to be around. She was honestly scared that if she allowed herself to be convinced to attend school again that somebody would get in the way of her reflexes and end up seriously injured or even dead.

In the meantime, she was spending her afternoon clearing out her room. There was a big box of clothes that she could never imagine wearing again and a lot of other _stuff_ that she could barely remember the reasons for keeping. Being surrounded by so many things was making her uncomfortable. She now had a much more adult, spartan space to call her own. The wardrobe was no longer overflowing, the surfaces were all clear and the only remnant of her childhood sat proudly on her pillow – Mr Gordo was one memory that she was not willing to part with.

***

By Thursday, Buffy had spoken several times with both her mother and Giles about continuing her education in a more slayer-friendly way. Her Watcher had been surprisingly supportive about the idea of homeschooling – especially once Buffy had made clear that she intended to continue her Demon research alongside completing the necessary work to gain her High School Diploma.

Her mother had reluctantly agreed that she could try it out for a couple of weeks. Buffy assumed that this was because her mom was still struggling with the idea of having a daughter with a work ethic that wouldn't be distracted by shoe sales, or miserable for lack of friends. 

The dining room had been turned into study central – a new bookcase had been filled with text books and folders of photocopied Willow notes from the first few weeks of term. Catching up on what had been covered in school seemed like the best place to start, after all. 

The bottom shelf of that bookcase had been filled with texts borrowed from Giles' library. Buffy had adamantly refused to give the Watcher even the slightest glimpse of her extensive demon research, much to his displeasure. Her argument was that she wanted to organise it all and expand on what she had learned through further research, and when it was eventually collated into something more readable, he would of course have the honour of proofreading.

It hadn't stopped him from pouting, or from making very unsubtle hints and offers of research assistance, but he _had_ reluctantly agreed. 

***

One thing that Buffy had not expected was how upset Willow would be at her refusal to return to school. The red-head had not mentioned anything about school when she had visited on Monday and Tuesday afternoon, too interested in hearing stories about Buffy's time away and reconnecting with her as a friend. On Wednesday, though, she had said something excitedly about attending class together again and Buffy had finally broken the news.

The little witch was not impressed. She had stared in blank shock for a full minute before angrily telling Buffy exactly how selfish she was being by not returning to school. It had been Buffy's turn to stare blankly at that, and before she could organise her mind enough to provide a coherent response, Willow had stormed out.

She had returned meekly the next day, begging forgiveness with double chocolate chip apology cookies and folders of photocopied notes.

That had led to their first honest heart-to-heart since Buffy left for LA. They had discussed a lot of things that Willow had been upset about but unwilling to mention since they paled in comparison to fighting your way out of literal hell. 

Little things that loomed big in the younger girl's mind. Like getting into a serious relationship with a werewolf, taking up patrolling while the Slayer was gone and studying witchcraft. 

They had talked for a long time about Oz and his furry little problem. Buffy had tried to be supportive with the general teenage drama of boyfriends and kissing and thinking about more than kissing. She could sort of remember how crazy those thoughts had made her when she was with Angel. Not that she had more than vague ideas about _maybe someday_ before that night when she thought they might never see each other again. 

Still, she offered a non-judgemental ear to all her friend's concerns – normal teenage _and_ supernatural, and by dinner time they had re-established that aspect of their friendship regardless of the age difference. Though Willow had remarked that Buffy was acting more like an older sister than a best friend in some of her comments.

While Buffy being back had negated the need for patrolling, she had offered to give Willow some self-defence classes that, realistically, were a necessity for those who hung around with the Slayer. So that if she ever needed to face a vampire alone, she could at least have a good chance of escaping. The teenager had been incredibly grateful that her fears were being taken seriously. 

It was when the conversation finally turned to the topic of magic and the little witch's experimentation that Buffy became concerned.

The initial conversation, talking about pagan blessings and a glamour to hide a zit, were what Buffy might have expected a young witch to learn. Nothing dangerous. Nothing to worry about. It was the following statement about trying to communicate with the spirit world and blowing out the power for the whole block that had the Slayer scared.

In her time in Hell, she had learned more than a little about magic. Mostly from demons and half-breeds, though there was the occasional magic user in the human sectors of the camps, too. It was from these people that she had learned and refined her meditation techniques. It was also a conversation with a random half-Brachen that had made her realise the magical potential of herself as the Slayer. 

She would never be a super-powerful witch, but the inherent magic of her slayerness gave her more than a little aptitude for spell casting. Over the years she had amassed an arsenal of magic that she had learned to weave into her general fighting style.

Mostly, it was defensive in nature. Perimeter alarms. Protection spells for her diaries. Decoys for use in battle. There were a few minor offensive spells too – small power boosts or trip wires, that sort of thing. 

Point being, Buffy was no stranger to magic. The fact that Willow was playing with spirit summonings and appeared to have zero understanding of the consequences (apart from the obvious power blow-out) gave her the serious wiggins.

Buffy had had no idea how to react to what Willow was saying. Her naïve, pre-Hell teenage self would probably have been dramatically supportive and awed by the tale. Her adult, magically knowledgeable self had paused and agreed that it must have been terrifying. She had struggled to find a way to suggest that perhaps her friend had best stick to levitating pencils until she had a bit more experience, worried that she might inadvertently set the young witch off on a mission to prove herself. In the end, she had said nothing.

She also failed to mention that she had magical training of her own at this point. Buffy was worried that Willow would be upset that the Slayer had learned to wield magic by herself whilst away. Admittedly the other girl was new to magic, but had given the Slayer the definite impression that she was excited to be able to provide something mystical to the group that none of the others could do. Which was silly, considering that Giles obviously had experience with spellcasting - even if he was seemingly reluctant to use magic after the unfortunate experiences of his youthful rebellion. 

Still, she was concerned that finding out that Buffy was perfectly happy doing her own spells would upset the younger girl much more than it should.

Buffy decided instead that she would have a word with Giles. It was not like anything the Slayer said at this point would do much more than annoy the witch. She may have been gone a while, but she knew Willow - and there was no way that the other girl would accept somebody she saw as a friend or peer as an authority figure of any kind. She was too intelligent for her own good, sometimes. 

Ever since she had been given the job of teaching the computer class (an action which teenage Buffy had accepted without question, but which she now saw as exploitation on the part of Snyder who had probably pocketed the salary that a replacement teacher would have been paid) Willow had developed a certain level of arrogance with regards to her academic brilliance. Hopefully the Watcher would be enough of a respected adult – or could find a teacher that would be – that her friend would be willing to accept instruction in the magical arts.

If she didn't, if she insisted on pursuing this dangerous route of self-instruction, Buffy was seriously concerned that she would one day have to face her friend on opposite sides of the battlefield.


	7. A Scooby Relocation

It had taken until the next Wednesday before the massive inconvenience of Buffy's banishment from school grounds was no longer something that they could ignore. Pretend as he might that they would find a way for his Slayer to be both homeschooled and able to access the resources he stored in the library whenever necessary, Giles was eventually forced to concede that it was an impossibility – at least so long as Snyder was principal.

Especially when they couldn't guarantee that the little weasel wouldn't wander into the library at any time after hours just to make sure that Buffy wasn't there.

It was Buffy who finally presented them with something of a solution to the issue: the mansion that Angelus had inhabited the previous year. It was a suggestion that her younger self would never have been able to contemplate, but years away and the distance of maturity allowed her to see the perks of her idea rather than the painful history that the building contained.

Fortunately, Giles had agreed that the suggestion had merit and they planned to start moving his occult reference material from the library to the new Scooby Headquarters on Friday after school. Xander was still distancing himself from the group, unable to face the dressing down she had given the day after her return to Sunnydale, but the others had been mostly thrilled at the idea of an off-campus base of operations.

Well – Willow _had_ complained briefly about the fact the she would no longer be able to help out in her free periods, but had been swiftly reassured by the reminder that Giles would still be in the library and would be able to provide research material if the need arose. She had been more nervous than excited when it was also pointed out that as a Senior she was allowed to actually _leave campus_ for lunch, too.

Buffy had decided to check the place out the next evening and make 100% sure that it was safe for human habitation. Not that she couldn't have done so Friday morning, but she wanted to use the guaranteed Willow-free time to set up her protective magics around the property.

She hadn't yet managed to bring the other girl's magical experimentation up with her Watcher, and wanted to be sure that all hints of spellcasting were removed long before the others were due to arrive. Which meant a Thursday night snoop to chase off anything that had been brave enough to set up shop in the home of three master vampires. The chance of finding anything wasn't high, even if one was currently burning in hell and the other two left town months ago, because there were very few demons who would willingly go against any _one_ of the remaining members of the Scourge of Europe, let alone all three together.

And as she explored the mansion, she became more and more certain that the Slayer was the only supernatural being crazy enough to defy them and claim the place for her own. She had cleared the ground floor and was working her way through the upper levels when she heard it. A thud, like that of a body being thrown from a height, followed by groans of pain.

Fuelled by adrenaline, she practically flew back to the ground floor – stake out and prepared for a fight. She skidded to a stop at the sight of a naked male body writhing in obvious pain in the spot that the statue of Acathla had once stood. She didn't lower her stake or let down her guard - her slayer senses told her that whoever he was, he wasn't human. It took her a moment longer to recognise the face.

Angelus. 

Somehow that bastard had escaped from his well-deserved stay in the hell dimension that he had tried to unleash upon the Earth. Furious with whatever powers had allowed this to happen, she strode forward with every intention of dusting him for good.

Before she took a single step across the room, a bright flash whited out her vision and when she blinked the world furiously back into focus she was facing an ugly, smelly, definitely-not-entirely-human man wearing a fedora and a frown.

“Whoa there, little lady!” 

He held his hands up as he spoke, with the obvious intention of keeping her from her prey. Buffy glowered at the little creep and he backed up a step and gulped, audibly.

“Hold on, Summers, there's no need to stake the souled-up vampire. Especially not after all the trouble we've had to go to to bring him back!”

Behind him, Angel was obviously regaining awareness of his surroundings and had begun snarling.

Buffy looked unimpressed.

“He doesn't look very soulful right now. Why should I let him live?”

“He's forgotten himself,” the repugnant little half-demon tried to placate her. “Untold years in Hell will do that to a person you know.”

The way he spoke, as if his words were meant to enlighten her to something that she couldn't possibly have any comprehension of, gave the Slayer pause for thought. It had taken a minute, but she finally recognised the person in front of her as the emissary from the Powers that had visited her shortly before her final battle with Angelus. Obviously, the PTB were unaware of her own experience with surviving in hell. She filed the fact away for future consideration and returned to the argument at hand.

“He's forgotten himself. You mean he is feral? That is not _safe_! Give me one good reason why I shouldn't stake him.”

Whistler looked at her with utter confusion. This vampire was the love of the girl's life - she should be weeping and kissing his knees in thanks for the safe return of her soulmate! Instead, he found himself struggling to keep her from dusting him.

“The Powers have released him from hell to be their Champion,” he stated with authority. 

Buffy crossed her arms under her chest. “A feral champion isn't much use now, is it?”

Whistler was confused. Where was the lovestruck Juliet that had so desperately wanted to save her Romeo despite the fact that _he_ was trying to end the world? He made his appeal to that girl.

“Perhaps _you_ can help him to remember.”

Her furious reaction was not one that he was expecting. Through gritted teeth, she ground out:

“It is not my job to care for feral vampires! It is, in point of fact, my job to _slay_ them.”

Nothing if not persistent, Whistler played his trump card.

“He isn't a normal feral vamp, though. He has a soul!”

If he had been expecting her to back down at this reminder, he was unpleasantly surprised when she spat her response back in his face.

“So does every human serial killer! That does not make him _good!_ In fact, it makes him _worse_ because he molested me _despite_ the conscience that shiny soul of his provides.” 

Whistler stood firm between the Slayer and the growling beast that was slowly regaining strength in his limbs. He needed this conversation to be over before the unwary vampire attacked. He knew for sure that there was no way he could save him if that happened. 

He tried a last, desperate plea. “I can't let you kill him, Summers. The Powers -”

She cut him off.

“If the Powers need him so badly, _you_ take care of him. Far away from me. If I see him again in my town, he's dust.”

Knowing that he was defeated, Whistler did just that. With speed that Buffy hadn't been aware he possessed, he grabbed the back of Angel's head and the pair vanished in a painful flash of white.

***

Buffy had called Giles shortly after she got home to let him know of her disturbing encounter with Angelus and the grubby little creep from the PTB who was so very determined to keep the souled vampire undusty. The Watcher had been furious to hear that the Powers had intervened to get him out of hell, and was audibly hopeful that they would ignore the Slayer's warning. They obviously shared the belief that if Angel was no longer suffering for his sins, then he should be introduced to the pointy end of a stake.

Alas, when the Slayer had returned bright and early the next morning, there was no sign of either the vampire or the messenger from the Powers. Buffy gave the house a quick search, but it was frustratingly empty. It appeared that somebody really did want to protect Angelus.

Annoyed, but not truly expecting it to be any different, Buffy forged ahead with her original plans for the morning.

As a private home, the mansion on Crawford Street was a step up from the school from a safety standpoint. Unlike with a public building, there was nothing to stop her from putting up protection spells and wards of intent to keep out anyone that wished the Scoobies harm. Unfortunately, unless they somehow managed to acquire the deeds to the property and put them in her name, there was no automatic barrier against vampires. So long as they didn't actively intend to hurt any of the people inside, they could enter uninvited.

Though since most vampires were incapable of spending time around humans and _not_ actively wishing harm on them, whether they acted on it or not, Buffy figured that her wards would do a better job than the standard invitational barrier anyhow.

It was something she had added to her own home as soon as she recovered from the shock of actually being back. Her experience of Angelus taking advantage of his invitation to threaten her mother was not something she was going to allow a repeat of. Not that she would ever be giving that particular vampire another invitation.

The various spells she worked around the building took up most of her morning. By the time those at the school were released for lunch, there was no indication that anything magical had happened at all. When Willow and Cordelia finally showed up at the end of the school day, she was almost done with spring cleaning the ground floor rooms.

Buffy had been expecting the Scoobies to turn up en-mass with the first van-full of books to unload and had thus been surprised with the earlier-than-expected arrival of Cordy's swish little convertible. When she asked where the others were, the cheerleader had answered in her usual dismissive tone.

“We left the men to do the heavy lifting. I realised that it was far more important that we come and help you get ready for them – I mean, after squatting in a hell dimension for who knows how long there isn't a chance in... well I didn't think it very likely that you'd given proper thought to interior design.”

Young Buffy would probably have been furious. Older Buffy was hard pressed to keep the smile off her face. The answer was so typical of Cordelia, not even the slightest attempt to soften the blunt truth of her thoughts.

And, quite honestly, refreshing. Giles had focused intently on the slaying aspect of her time in hell, never allowing the conversation to veer to more personal matters. Her mother and Willow had barely mentioned her time away at all – though whether for fear of upsetting her or themselves she wasn't sure. Cordy's unwillingness to pretend that nothing horrible had happened to Buffy was a pleasant change.

Willow's horrified expression when the other girl spoke made the Slayer bite her lip to keep from smiling.

Buffy then spent the next couple of hours shifting what furniture there was from room to room until it met the standards of her self-appointed interior designer as best as was possible given the resources at hand.

Cordelia had gone so far as to write in marker across the walls that she designated for bookcases, to ensure that her vision would be followed even if she weren't there to personally direct them.

Meanwhile, back in the library, Giles and Oz were methodically filling boxes with books. The werewolf had been surprised to discover that there was a storage room hidden behind the stacks. When opened, he had been shocked into speech to see the small room, filled top to bottom with boxes of books that the Watcher had removed from the shelves.

“Wow.”

The Englishman had looked flustered as he pulled down the first box.

“Well, yes. I had to make space for my books somehow. So I simply removed all the substandard literature from the shelves and stored it back here.”

Oz had raised an eyebrow as he lifted a copy of _Homer's Illiad, an abridged prose translation_ from the box that the Watcher had taken out. Giles had eyed the book with a grimace.

So the two of them had set about returning the library to its pre-slayer state. Each box of books was emptied, the box re-filled with occult reference material and taken out to Oz's van, before finally the twaddle was returned to the shelves. It was a slow process, though neither complained.

They had been working for a little over an hour when the library doors banged open. Both looked up, startled, but it was the person that had barged into the room that turned out to be the bigger surprise.

It was Xander. The dark haired teen seemed equally shocked at the lack of Scooby meeting and looked with confusion at the boxing up of the Watcher's private collection. At Giles' pointed stare, he looked down at his feet and began to shuffle nervously.

“Hey, G-man, I was looking for the Buffster but I can see that she's not here. What's with the boxes?”

Giles put down the books he was sorting and gave an unimpressed look to the obviously uncomfortable young man, whose words had given no indication that he had spent more than a week avoiding them.

“I have asked you repeatedly not to call me that,” he said in a distinctly frosty tone, “now what exactly is it that you want?”

Xander put his hands in his pockets, properly chastised.

“Sorry, Giles. I just – I've been thinking and, you know, I realised that throwing away the best friends I am ever likely to have because I'm too proud to apologise is probably the stupidest thing I have ever done. So I came to do that. Apologise, I mean. To Buffy. Except she's not here, and you're moving books – does that mean you're leaving us, too?”

He sounded like a sad, lost little boy and Giles couldn't help but lose some of the hostility he had been feeling towards him since the night after Buffy came back. Of course it wasn't up to him to offer forgiveness, but that didn't stop him from giving a little hope.

“No, I'm not leaving. However, since Buffy is not allowed on school grounds, we have decided to move our meeting place out of the library. She had taken over the mansion on Crawford Street as our new base of operations – we are moving my personal book collection over there this evening. If you wish to help, I do not think Buffy would be offended. In fact, I am sure she would be happy to listen to whatever you have to say when we deliver the first load of books.”

The hope in Xander's eyes gave him the look of a beaten puppy promised a treat. He rubbed his hands together eagerly and announced: “show me the boxes.”

 


	8. Eye-Opening Conversations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of update last week. RL happened. I still have a couple more chapters in reserve, but then the regular updates will slow down a bit.

When he realised exactly which building Oz had pulled his van up outside, Xander began to feel nervous. The last time he had been here he had lied to and, in doing so, betrayed Buffy. Suddenly, apologising to the Slayer was a much more daunting prospect than it had been a few minutes before, in the safe familiarity of the library.

Any thoughts of fleeing the uncomfortable situation were quickly dismissed as Buffy strode down the path to meet them. She stopped and raised an enquiring eyebrow when she saw him.

“Xander?”

Her attitude was questioning rather than confrontational, which soothed his nerves a little. 

“Hey, Buff. I went looking for you in the library and found Giles and Oz packing up.”

She nodded in acknowledgement but remained silent, waiting for him to get to the point.

“So, I wanted to explain. And apologise.”

Xander was starting to find her lack of words and calm attitude disconcerting. It was so unlike Buffy – then again, he didn't know this new slightly older and hell-matured version of his friend. In a way, the fact that she was acting so differently was helping him to actually process the fact that she had changed. Not that he'd given himself much of a chance until now – what with not having really seen her since storming out the day after she got back.

“I've had a lot of time to think, this last couple of weeks. I figure I have a choice – I can hold on to my pride or my friends, and I'm not very good at being alone. So I'm here to apologise, for lying about the soul spell. That was wrong and petty and I shouldn't have given my hatred for Angel more importance than your feelings.”

Buffy smiled and gave a quiet “thank you” but said nothing more, sensing that he had more to get off his chest.

“I don't know if I can apologise about the Hyena thing, though.” 

He held up a hand to forestall any words of protest and tried to show with his eyes that he had a good reason for saying so.

“It isn't that I'm not sorry that it happened – God, I had nightmares for months thinking about what could have happened and how much I might have hurt you – but the lying thing... I didn't lie to hurt you. I did it to protect myself. I just... It was horrible. It was my voice saying those things, my body trying to do _that_ to you, and all I could do was watch.  I was trapped inside, watching from the engine room on the Death Star as Darth Vader gave the orders to blow up Alderaan... When it was over, when I was finally _me_ again... I just couldn't bear to even think about it. I knew that you would want to talk and I just _couldn't._ I couldn't face the memory and so I pretended that it wasn't there, like if I just pushed it down deep enough the pain and horror would go away with it...”

Somehow he had managed to babble out most of what he had wanted to say. Maybe not very coherently, and he was choking back tears by the end, but hopefully it was enough that she would understand. He had never wanted to hurt her.

Buffy also had tears glistening on her lashes. In all her years of contemplation, she had never once thought of the pain that the demon had caused Xander, focusing only on the way his lie had hurt _her._ The hyena might have tried to rape her, but it only got as close as it had because she had been afraid of damaging her friend's body. It hadn't really hurt her. But it _had_ hurt Xander. 

She wrapped her arms around him and held him close, murmuring her forgiveness.

Xander spent much of the day on the periphery of the group, focused on shifting boxes of books. By the time he lugged in the last box from the final library trip and dropped it a little too enthusiastically in front of its allocated bookcase-space, he was almost back to his usual Scooby self. 

Standing up and dramatically brushing non-existent dirt from his hands, he announced loudly:

“Ok, we're all moved in but the place isn't quite house-party ready. I declare tonight's housewarming celebrations to be redirected to the Bronze!”

Willow and Oz quickly gave their enthusiastic agreement. Cordelia didn't reply, but her expression was one that said she both wasn't going to be dictated to by Xander and that they would almost certainly see her there. 

“Buff, you in?” he asked.

“Sorry, Xander, I already have plans for this evening. But if you'll still be there, I can meet up with you guys in a couple of hours.”

Before he could stop himself, he grouched at her.

“What's more important than celebrating a good day's work with your friends?”

A simple warning look was enough to remind him of the relatively fragile place his position in the group still held. He looked down, abashed.

She didn't punish him with her tone, but he could tell that it was the only time she would let the attitude slide.

“I'm going to Willy's. I want to get to know some of the more peaceful demons that live in town and my best chance will be to get in there early, before the bigger nasties show up and turn it into a brawl.”

Xander bit his tongue before a snide question about why anyone would want to get to know any kind of demons managed to slip out. It was going to take a little while to re-train both his mouth and his brain if he wanted to regain his spot at the heart of the group. 

Funnily enough, that idea didn't bother him nearly as much as he might have expected.

***

Sooner than she had thought possible, Buffy was on her way to the Bronze. There hadn't been many peaceables at Willy's tonight, and those that _were_ there were not big on talking. Apparently it was much harder to befriend demons who saw you as invading their safe zone than it was when you had fought for their freedom. Who'd have thunk?

Still, despite being the pariah at the bar that nobody wanted to talk to, she had at least managed to get across the most important message. Unless and until they attacked any human (or herself), they were safe from the Slayer. She would have to be patient whilst she proved that fact. Maybe one day they would accept her offer of friendship, too.

The walk over to the Bronze had given her time to shake off her frustration at their frosty reception and now she was all ready to dance out the last of the tension with her friends. Except when she got there, the dance floor was Scooby-free.

A quick scan of the club revealed the whole lot of them gathered together, talking with a dark-haired girl that Buffy's slayer senses told her wasn't entirely human.

“Hey Buffy! How did it go?” asked Willow.

Buffy claimed the last seat with a sigh. “Not great, though I think I managed to convince them that I meant it with the no-harm-no-slay policy.”

She turned to the girl whose tale of naked alligator wrestling she had interrupted. 

“Hi, I'm Buffy. You feel familiar. Human, but... Slayer. You're the new Slayer.”

The new girl looked impressed.

“Way to go with the mystical supersenses, B. Name's Faith. So you're Slayer number one, huh?”

Before Buffy could be drawn into conversation with the new Slayer, Xander interrupted. 

“So what happened with the alligator?”

With a shrug, Faith leaned back in her chair and returned to her anecdotes. Watching her talk, Buffy got a sense of the other girl's nervous insecurity that was being forcefully hidden behind the screen of false bravado and exaggerated slaying successes.

A part of her called out to this hurting child, wanting to hold her close and protect her. 

She was dragged out of her introspection when she realised that the whole group was staring at her. 

“Huh?” she managed eloquently.

“I said isn't it mad how slaying makes you hungry and horny?”

Buffy could feel the intense interest of the group as they waited for her response. It irritated her; their implicit demand for information about herself, regardless of her feelings or desire to share. She kind of wanted to turn it around – embarrass them with bland discussion of their own bodily functions – but something told her that doing so in this moment would hurt Faith. She settled for embarrassing them with brutal honesty instead.

“A well-stocked fridge should be included on the list of essential Slayer kit,” she nodded sagely. Looking around the group, focusing on the intent gazes of her friends, she continued.

“You don't know how hard it was when I was away. Living on short rations with a Slayer metabolism is painful enough. Having to do that with hours of slaying on top... multiple orgasms could barely take the edge off.”

Faith's expression told Buffy that she understood that pain entirely too well. Her heart cried out for the younger girl.

Xander let out a strangled choking noise, and Cordelia quickly 'helped' him with several hard smacks to his back. The last one was forceful enough that he smacked his head on the table in front of him. 

Buffy stood, deciding to call an end to the evening before it devolved into something a lot less fun. Oz followed her lead, the werewolf gallantly offering his arm to his lady. She giggled and blushed, but took it anyway. Xander, realising that he had managed to get his foot all the way down to his stomach this time, and had no hope of being allowed in Cordy's car, quickly begged the couple to give him a lift home.

“Walk with me, Faith?” Buffy asked.

The other girl gave a brief glance at Cordelia, who waved her hands in dismissal. 

“Oh don't worry about me. My car's out front and I'm only waiting to make sure I don't have to see Xander and his stupid lecherous face again tonight.”

Faith rose to her feet and looked over to the door of the club. 

“Seems like they're gone, so we can walk you to your car on the way out.”

Cordelia smiled and the three girls made their way out of the Bronze.

Once Cordy was safely away, Buffy turned to Faith.

“So what brings you to Sunnydale? Any upcoming apocalypse I should be aware of?”

Some emotion flickered in Faith's eyes but was gone before Buffy could identify it, hidden behind the happy-go-lucky façade.

“Oh nothing much. My Watcher is off galivanting – retreat in the home country – so I figured that with no-one to tell me not to, now was as good a time as any to take a road trip and meet the great Buffy Summers, Slayer Extraordinaire!”

Buffy gave her a little smile and gave a dramatic sweep of her arm as she spoke.

“Well, you found me. Do I live up to your expectations?”

Faith gave her a critical look up and down.

“Not sure yet. I guess I'll have to hang around a little and find out.”

Buffy grinned. 

“Very sensible. Always best not to judge a book by its cover. So where are you staying?”

Faith's answer was given brashly, an overconfident announcement that defied her obviously well-off companion to lay down judgement.

“The Sunnydale Motor Inn.”

Buffy shuddered at the thought. Even as strong as she was, Faith was still a young girl and the idea of her staying in that nasty fleabag motel actually _hurt_ the older Slayer.

“No you're not,” she said calmly. She had to fight the urge to cross her arms under her chest, knowing that it would just provoke the other girl into stubborn refusal.

Faith scowled. “Pretty sure I am.”

Buffy sighed. She saw no sense in arguing, certain that it was the surest way to encourage a refusal of her offer. Instead, she spoke with a quiet intensity.

“Look, I'm not going to force you. Stay wherever the hell you like, but we have a spare room that has clean bedding, hot water and plenty of food. Best of all, it won't cost you a dime.”

She could see the temptation warring with pride on the younger girl's face. 

“Wouldn't want to intrude,” she said, though her tone disagreed with the sentiment.

With confidence in her mother that she hoped wasn't misplaced, Buffy insisted that she wouldn't be intruding on anything.

After giving a show of reluctance, Faith agreed to go home with Buffy. Just for the one night. With a smile on her face, Buffy led the other girl enthusiastically towards her home. 

Her every instinct told her that Faith was in desperate need of acceptance, of family, and she was more than willing to share her's.


End file.
